


Live for Each Day

by Tarlan



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Angst, Community: smallfandomfest, M/M, Season/Series 03 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-27
Updated: 2012-11-27
Packaged: 2017-11-19 16:45:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/575429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tarlan/pseuds/Tarlan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes they needed to know they were still alive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Live for Each Day

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Жить каждым днем](https://archiveofourown.org/works/799312) by [Chrissy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chrissy/pseuds/Chrissy)



> Created for LJ's Small Fandom Fest FEST12  
>  **Spoilers for recent episodes**

The first time it happened was not long after the attack on the farm. They had lost so many people that night. Good people. Family. Every death had seemed so messed up, and none more so than Shane's. Daryl recalled Rick's anger and grief all too clearly, knowing Shane had finally snapped under the pressure, and Rick had been forced to kill his best friend - or be killed. Except Shane hadn't stayed dead even though he'd not been bitten.

The single gun shot as Carl protected his father had brought the walkers. There must have been hundreds of them; a herd passing too close that might have passed them by otherwise. Maybe if they'd not become so complacent on the farm. Maybe if they'd posted sentries to keep a watch for any approaching herds then, maybe they might have been better prepared. Instead they'd been forced to make a run for it.

What happened with Shane was a real mess though.

Daryl had seen the fight coming for a while back and had tried to stay clear of the pair of them, not wanting to be drawn into taking sides. God knew this world had gone crazy enough already without those two fighting but, in the end, it had been inevitable. Two men in love with the same woman was a recipe for disaster, so his mother had said often enough. He'd been too young to understand what she meant back then. He understood now.

In those early days following the attack, everyone had been shell-shocked, and Rick could barely look at Lori without remembering what he'd had to do to his friend because of her. Hell, they only had Lori's word on it that the baby was Rick's and not Shane's. Not that it mattered much to anyone other than the three of them.

Daryl remembered the bleak look in Rick's eyes as he stared across the field towards the woods from his sentry point, wondering if Rick would even spot a walker if it lurched right up to him. He seemed lost in a different world, or maybe he was back in the old world; the world that had existed before the zombie plague. He had sank down onto the cold ground next to Rick and reached out. He had only meant to touch his shoulder, offering a measure of comfort for both of them, but Rick had turned suddenly, wrapping his arms around him and burying his face against Daryl's neck.

Just as quickly, they were on their knees, still wrapped up in each other, and when he felt Rick's hand sliding into his pants, Daryl had swallowed hard but made no move to stop him. Instead he had reached for Rick, dropping his forehead onto Rick's shoulder as they brought each other off with none of that romantic stuff. No kisses and sweet caresses, just callused hands striping hard flesh, muffling their desperate cries against each other's shirts as they came.

Afterwards they moved apart, cleaned up and straightened their clothing before taking up their sentry posts again as if nothing had happened between them. Except Daryl had felt a warm spark ignite in that part of his soul that had seemed so dead only moments before, and from the loss of bleakness in Rick's eyes, he had found some comfort too.

They never spoke of it

***

The second time came at the prison. Lori was dead, Rick was out of his mind with shock and grief, and their baby needed formula. Damned it he was going let that baby die after all the losses they had taken that day. He owed it to Carol and T-Dog, owed it to Lori and, whether he knew it or not, he owed it to Rick too.

He'd taken Maggie on a hunt and they'd come across one of those day-care centers that, fortunately, still had a few unopened tins of formula stashed away in a cupboard. It was the small painted hand prints scattered across the wall that almost broke him, and he peeled off one with Sophia's name.

Feeding the hungry little ass-kicker had numbed some of the pain of loss, and when Rick finally appeared after taking out his pain on the walkers that had killed more of their family, Daryl had noticed how his eyes never once strayed to the tiny newborn. Instead it was talk of guns and knives and ammo, and when Rick walked away, Daryl waited ten or so minutes before he followed.

He stepped up the pace when he heard Rick cry out and found him hunched over the bench, banging his head against the bench top. He dropped his crossbow on the bench and reached for Rick, holding out his hands in a placating gesture when Rick whipped round, with a snarl. The rage vanished immediately, replaced with a look so lost that Daryl ached for him.

"Daryl?"

He let Rick take those few steps separating them; let him move into his still open arms, and held him close, burying his own face against Rick's neck as he thought of Carol. Glenn hadn't mentioned finding her body, though he placed a Cherokee Rose on one of the graves anyway, in memory of her, Lori... and little Sophia. His hands rubbed over Rick's back, trying to offer comfort in soothing gestures.

"We're dying here, Daryl. One by one," he mumbled against Daryl's neck, his breath warm but ragged. "Day by day."

"Gotta make each day count then."

He felt the press of lips against the juncture of neck and shoulder, and shuddered from the need filling him, wanting to feel alive amongst all this death and horror. From the way Rick moved against him, he knew Rick wanted that connection too, and he moved his head, nudging against Rick until those needy kisses fell on his mouth. They ended up on the dirty floor, rocking against each other through their clothing, mouths pressed against whatever skin they could reach to muffle choked sobs that pretended to be cries of passion.

Afterwards, everything was still except for the rapid pulse beneath their skin and the rise and fall of their chests as they breathed in each other. When he looked into Rick's face, a little peace had stolen into his eyes, removing that glint that had made Daryl fear for Rick's sanity. They cleaned up in a weird yet comfortable silence. Daryl pushed to his feet and held out a hand, clasping Rick's forearm to pull him to his feet. He picked up his crossbow and nodded.

"I'll head down to the lower levels. Make sure we got them all."

Rick nodded, and Daryl turned away, almost reaching the door when Rick called his name.

"Daryl?"

He half-turned towards Rick but they both remained silent - neither of them needing words when a look was enough. 

Family. Friends. Brothers.

END


End file.
